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“I don’t care about credit. I care that the performance is great and everyone has a good time.”

“That frustrates the fuck out of me.”

I laugh. “Why?”

He steps closer, and my breath catches in my chest. His gaze roams over my face. Finally, he says, “Because you deserve to have everyone see how special you are.”

Yeah, that breath in my chest isn’t going anywhere.

“I am guessing Beckett has always loved the spotlight and you learned pretty much from the womb that he was going to step out in front. You love him so much and him being happy makes you happy, so you are fine in the background contributing, knowing that you’re helping make everyone happy, not caring if they know what you’re doing, just glad to be there.”

Finally, the air whooshes out of my lungs. Maybe all of that is completely obvious. My brother is, after all, an extra-extrovert. It doesn’t take more than two minutes in his presence to know that.

But this still feels like Lawson has been paying special attention and has figured something out because he’s cared enough to try.

“That’s pretty accurate,” I admit. “Don’t forget the part about having a little sister who got sick very young and took up a lot of attention and energy too. Attention and energy I was fine giving up for her.”

Lawson moves in closer, the toe of one of his shoes between the toes of mine. “You started cooking for your family then, right? You took over that task from your mom to make things easier for her. But it also helped you feel like you were taking care of everyone.”

I can’t swallow past the tightness in my throat for a moment. I nod. “Yes.”

“Did they thank you and tell you how amazing it was?”

I lift a shoulder. “Sometimes. But they were pretty distracted and exhausted and…”

He nods. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

“What does?”

“Well, that they would be like that. But also, that you still really loved doing it.” He pauses. “And probably really love being praised for it now.”

Oh yeah, he’s really close to figuring out that I’m the one bringing food to his house.

I wet my suddenly dry lips. “I do really love it when people like what I make. I think that’s pretty normal. You like it when people are happy with the work you do on their cars, right? And when they say you played a good game?”

A line forms between his brows. “Actually, I know when I do a good job at those things. I don’t need them to tell me.”

Oh.

“You’re not into being thanked and praised?” I ask.

Something flickers in his gaze when I say the word ‘praised’.

He lifts a hand and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m not. But I understand when other people are and I think it’s important to give them that when they need it.”

Something clenches, hot and low in my belly.

“Was Beckett always the instigator?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, not even pretending not to know what he means. “If we went on an adventure or got into trouble, it was always his idea.”

Lawson studies me again for a long moment, then the corner of his mouth tips up. “I don’t believe you.”

My eyebrows arch. “What?”

“Oh, I believe he was out in front, started it, was the first through the door, or out on the proverbial—or literal—branch, and was definitely the one that was loud about it and got you caught. But I don’t believe it was always his idea.”

He tucks that same strand of hair behind my ear again. I’m pretty sure it was still secure.